lydamorehouse: (Default)
 I had the coolest dream last night.  Or, rather, in the way of dreams, I had the coolest snippet of a dream that I remember.  

Do you ever have dreams where you're suddenly much more agile or strong, physically, than you are in real life?  I have these occasionally, and they're always incredibly memorable.  A lot of times I'm a thief, escaping somewhere or breaking into some upper story apartment, and I have this ability to be super agile and climb ANYTHING, almost like Spider-Man.  But, every once and a while I have super-strength. I still remember one about being a vampire at a DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles, for my non-American friends, a genuinely frustratingly slow place) and just tossing furniture around, because I could.  

Last night I dreamed I was an anime character (Renji Abarai) who was challenged by some other guy (Ichigo? Dream set piece villain? ??) and I was maybe drunk, but I get up and go into this stance, and punch the guy hard enough to stagger him back with my right, and then left hook him hard enough he goes THROUGH THE WALL.


I love dreams like that. They're so empowering. And, while they're technically violent, they're usually not... angry or scary?  You know? This one very much felt like a demonstration of my abilities, rather than me responding to a threat.  One of the things good dream interpreters will ask you is: "Well, what was the main feeling of this dream?" The main feeling was: DAMN, IT IS GOOD TO BE BIG AND STRONG.

Then I woke up all small and fat and... ah well.

How about you? Any dreams like this?
lydamorehouse: (crazy eyed Renji)
 It looks like we will be rained out, alas. 

On the other hand, it's so dark out there right now the sun might as well be eclipsed. :-)

A lot of my friends are eclipse chasing.  I'm.... a little jealous. Of course, we could have done the same, I suppose. I certainly had the opportunity. A friend of mine invited my family to join hers in St. Louis. But, at the time, I would not have predicted rain and it seemed like an unnecessary expense, since we'll have near totality here, as well.  I am, of course, feeling (currently) very bummed out.  The sun is now being a tease, so who knows if we'll see anything or not.  I've got some plans in case it does clear up. We bought our eclipse viewing glasses some time ago, at least. So, we will either take them up to Mirriam Park library and join the crowd there, or hop in the car and head to Roseville Library for their program.  Worse case, we can always lives stream. Nasa will be live streaming the event.  Gizmodo also has a good article about what can be experienced even if the sun isn't visible.

At least total eclipses aren't a once in a lifetime event.  In fact, I only have to wait until April 8, 2024 for the next one.  The path of totality passes pretty close to us again (if I'm reading the map right, it looks like we could go visit Shawn's mother-in-law in Indiana and see it.)  And I've seen a number of partial solar eclipses before.  I remember one, when I worked at the Immigration History Research Center, where we borrowed welding helmets from a nearby shop. I also did a pinhole viewing while Mason was alive at Kuk Soil Wan, our old martial arts dojo.  Obviously not as impressive, I'm sure, as totality.  

I'm anxious enough about missing this event that I had a very weird dream about it last night. I dreamed that I went to an event at Shoreview Library and ran into my friend Sean Murphy there. He's actually eclipse chasing IRL, so I asked him why he was in town. Apparently he burned out his eyes somehow... that part had dream logic that made no sense, but when I started to offer our eclipse glasses I realized MASON WAS STILL AT HOME ASLEEP, and so the rest of my dream was me running around while the eclipse was happening trying to get to Mason. At one point, during the darkest faze, dinosaurs came out of the sky, but they were friendly so it was fine.

Happy eclipse 2017! Hope your day is dinosaur free (or not, as you like!)

lydamorehouse: (more renji art)
I have a reoccurring nightmare. It involves getting on an elevator, often at a business, but sometimes at a high-rise dorm (which I had at my alma mater). I press the button to go to the floor I need, and suddenly the elevator goes too fast, has no walls, spins around, goes sideways, or any number of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory sorts of options. It's not the kind of nightmare where I wake up screaming for my mommy in a cold sweat. It does, however always stick in my mind and disturb the calm of the day afterwards with fleeting memories of the dream sensations.

Last night, my subconscious came up with a most clever solution. When you see an elevator, don't get on!


Of course, I then spent the rest of the dream trying to rescue a friend who did get on the elevator and thus had fallen into the clutches of some evil half-way house for at-risk teens. Me and the cab-driver (the character of "Sasha" from EastEnders) and I came up with all sorts of distractions in order to save this young man... which we eventually did by bringing the building super in. That's where things go weird in a very dream-like way... however, the point is, I saved the boy AND DIDN'T RIDE THE ELEVATOR. A good night.

I'm pleased to have had such a successful subconscious because last night people were wrong on the Internet again. I got into a very brief Facebook fight with a friend who had posted a link to this: Conor Lastowka's Tumblr comments, a sort of backlash to io9's decision:

There are only a couple of things I want to say. The most mature of which is, "Nyah, nyah, nyah, shut up, we won!"

The second is actually in response to something my friend said on his Facebook status. He suggested that fan fic writers were inviting criticism by posting their work in a public forum. He said that everyone takes their lumps as creative artists.

My first response was a gut-level "yeah, but we're professionals, those are the dues we can expect to pay..."

But, I was thinking about that a lot as I was falling asleep because, you know, he's right. Fic forums are public venues. However, the analogy my brain came up with was this: fan sites are as public as, say, a gay bar. The Gay 90s is a public place. Everyone is allow in, but there's an assumption that those of us who go there are entering a space just for us, where we can be surrounded by like-minded folks. It may not be officially a safe space, but there's a sort of assumed privacy. No one is expecting a straight reporter from Comedy Central to bust in and start mocking someone for wearing lame pants.

I think the analogy is especially useful because one of the things that I felt like was happening was an "oooh, look at the kinky weirdos" parade. Sherlock enema fic! Water sports Harry Potter! And, as a lesbian, I find that sort of thing particularly hurtful, because not that long ago, what I did in the privacy of my own bedroom was considered a disease.

And of course some fic writing is dreadful. Some pro writing is dreadful. 'Nuff said. Because, you know, the good guys won this one. So I'm going to let it go.

Updated to add: So my partner, who often acts as a "clipping service" sent me a link to this early review of the The Hobbit movie from the Hollywood Reporter:

I particularly resonated with this quote, "If The Hobbit had been filmed shortly after the book's publication in 1937 (it's a wonder that it wasn't), one easily could imagine a lively affair full of great character actors and cleverly goofy special effects that would have moved the story along in smart style in under two hours." Except, I'd like to see THAT movie with TODAY'S special effects.

I was expecting to be disappointed, particularly when I found out that Mr. Jackson was breaking this movie into three parts. But, it was kind of my Captain America. I was holding out hope that, despite my fears, it would turn out ridiculously awesome. Because, like Captain America, I have a lot invested in the Hobbit. Of all of JRR Tolkien's works, THE HOBBIT is my favorite. It is the first "grown up" book that I remember reading cover-to-cover and more than once. It's also Mason's favorite, and, thanks to him, I've read the entire book out loud. It's a cleverly funny book (reminiscent, in my mind, at least, of the soft, domestic humor of Beatrix Potter,) and, actually, as such things go, very fast-paced with a lot of action and a F*CKING AWESOME DRAGON.

So, I'm still hoping that the reviewer is wrong, or, conversely, that it turns out I'm one of the purists who will enjoy the crap out of the extended version. Fingers remaining firmly crossed!
lydamorehouse: (slytherin)
Shawn talks in her sleep. Last night, as I'm coming back up the stairs after being harrassed awake by my annoying black cat Inky who is perpetually convinced he's starving to death, Shawn calls out. She yells, "Your feet are rather heavy on the stairs, Mr. Potter!"

I was clear to me that the only proper response was, "Sorry, Professor Snape!"

I thought, actually, she might be awake so when I got back into bed I said, "I'm kind of surprised you're not dreaming of Mordor..." (since we'd watched "Fellowship of the Ring" last night,) but she was SOUND asleep (and snoring, but she'd deny tht last part.) I worried for a few minutes that I might have caused a dreaming mishap, wherein Harry goes to Mordor, but she had no recollection of either the conversation or any Potter/Mordor crossover dreams.
lydamorehouse: (shark)
This is Discovery Channel's "Shark Week," and we happen to be at a place that has cable so Mason and I tuned in a little last night and this morning (during the brief rain storm we had here in Siren.)

All, I can say is, "Thank you, Discovery Channel, for the nightmares last night."

Yes, thanks to a scene of people trapped in a shark cage while a 2,000 pound female great white shark thrashed above them (nearly drowning them, and, in point of fact, breaking the "shark proof" metal,) I dreamed last night that we had a shark in the basement. Thrashing. Actually, it was my cousin Steve's basement and I have to admit to seeing it slip out of its pool and completely bailing on my family. I was all, "Well, look at the time," in my dream. I'm a total astral coward when it comes to sharks apparently.
lydamorehouse: (Default)
This weekend was Mason's birthday. He turned eight, which I can hardly believe. For some reason, this birthday, Shawn and I were very much reminded of all the things that happened on his very FIRST birthday... which made him seem that much older.

We'd planned a party for the kids through a place in Edina called Adventure Peak. For the people who'd never been, I described it as "a McDonald's Playland without the McDonald's and a LOT bigger." There's also, though, an attached "Great Hall," which is a big gym with places to play basketball, scoot scooters around, and jump in a castle bouncey-house. Mason invited a bunch of kids this time from all his various activities, including some kids from the Montessouri side of his school who are in his advanced readers' group. Also, some of our friends from kuk sool wan. We tried to encourage Mason to pick a number of people from each "non-classmate" group so that no one would show up not knowing anyone besides Mason, and that actually turned out well. The one kid that ended up coming from KSW made friends pretty easily because he'd brought along his DS and there are a number of game-enthusists among Mason's buddies.

I think it was a success for the kids, certainly. Even though we had the party at noon, we didn't end up serving lunch. I let the parents know that they should bring their kids pre-fed, but we did serve lots of cake, fruit and juice. We also brought along a bunch of water bottles that got consumed very readily. In fact, if we do this again, we've determined to bring MORE water, and possibly colored rubber bands or a Sharpie so that kids can mark their water bottles as to whose was whose.

But we were very laisez fair about the whole thing once we were set up. We let kids run off and play right away, gathered them briefly for treats, and then sent them off again with the understanding that they could come back for cake or fruit or juice or water at any time. Shawn staffed the tables to make sure food and drink stayed at the table. We also decided not to do one of those (IMHO) awkward present-opening moments, if only because it seemed a shame to make kids sit still to watch Mason, when slides and bouncey-houses awaited.

Plus, those things can be awkward because some presents delight more than others, and then you have to spend time making sure no feelings get hurt and Mason behaves with decorum.... (which he SHOULD, but it much easier to do in private rather than public, you know?)

Anyway, it was very fun. I think we may even do it again next year.

We came home an Skyped grandma and grandpa Morehouse (which we got to work. I used Shawn's iTouch and Gramma and Gramps called the test center and did a bit of adjusting too.) It was a bit hard to focus the tiny screen on Mason as he moved around, but I think that went pretty well too. Mason still has very little patience for phone conversations, especially when presents were opened and there were LEGOs and whatnot to put together, but I think he did pretty well given all the distractions.

Today... today I'm coming down from all that. I'm feeling a bit old, prickly, and tenacously grumpy. I guess it's Monday for me. I'm looking forward to getting back to KSW tonight. We missed all last week due to the extreme heat, so my muscles are tight and creaky. In fact, last night I had a very strange dream involving KSW that was a play on a reoccuring dream I have about being an understudy who gets called to perfrom, only somehow I never learned the play, etc., etc. In this one, I turned up at KSW to discover I was supposed to be part of a complicated demo...

...also I had another Neil Gaiman dream. Only this time, it involved his house. Except, of course, it wasn't his real house, but the one I imagine in my dreams. I dreamed that Shawn and I were driving by his house, which was situated on a hill, and discovered that the city was cutting down all the trees that had blocked it from view. We were scandalized to discover that it was completely falling apart!

Mr. Gaiman is often a stand-in for "fame" in my dreams, so if I were to play Dr. Freud with myself, I would say that some part of me is afraid that, if the things that shield me in my public life were stripped away, everyone would discover a broken shell underneath.

Not surprisingly, I'm feeling a bit paranoid about my career today. ;-)
lydamorehouse: (Default)
I am such a weirdo.

I think that pretty sums up everything you might need to know about me, but I was thinking specifically of the fact that, unlike almost every other writer I know, I ADORE the revision process. I think it's the sense of accomplishment I get while I'm going through each page. In front of me today is a big pile of paper. It's a completed (if somewhat flawed) story. I don't have to figure out how it's going to end any more. It's written. I may, in point of fact, need to utterly CHANGE the ending for the novel to actually be any good, but I have a spare, you know?

I like that feeling. A lot.

Even though I know that when I get through this round of revisions another one is on its heels (or waiting in the wings and other such metaphors) -- around and around until publication.

But, you know, I've taken my first stab at it. I hit something. Now I just have to make sure my aim is true and I hit home.

Which is kind of a disturbing image since last night I had a really awful nightmare about discovering a serial killer had been to my house while I was away. And then I became a strange sort of magical-yet-evil house spirit myself who continued the killing spree. It was particularly disturbing because it's one of the first dreams that I remember taking place in THIS house, exactly as it's laid out. Usually, I have a stock stand-in metaphor for my house. It's partly my parent's house combined with this one with bits of other houses or apartments I've lived in or known, and a hotel (or a museum). But it's always generally the same place that my subconscious has dubbed "my house" even though it looks nothing like the place in which I currently reside. So besides being creepily violent, it was also very specific.

Banish, banish, banish!

Luckily, it's incredibly beautiful outside today and I have something I'm looking forward to doing in front of me. I'm sitting on the porch with the windows cracked open. There's coffee in the pot and a cat perched on the head of my chair behind me. The thing that's going to be hard is to stay indoors, when what I really want to do is start mucking about in the garden (even though there's still patches of stubborn snow in our back yard.) We're going to expand Mason's veggie garden this year. I really want to try growing lettuce. The seed catalogues all have these cute little individual serving size minature lettuce varieties and I just adore them. I want to see them growing in neat little rows in Mason's garden.

Ah, hurry up summer!!
lydamorehouse: (Default)
It's Thursday, which is my busy day. I just finished the dishes, and pretty soon I'll have to tackle the fish tanks. Then, it will be off to Mason's school to volunteer. After that, if I have any energy, I hope to go work out, as I've had to miss kuk sool wan one night this week. Ah, the glamourous life of a writer, eh?

Speaking of writing work, I finished going through the page proofs for RESURRECTION CODE over the weekend, and I should probably look through ALMOST FINAL CURTAIN before the deadline. Sometimes I have a really hard time looking at my own writing, especially after it's all typeset for printing. There's something so permanent that makes it sort of scary, you know? There's really not a lot you can do at the page proof stage either. There are plenty of opportunities for major change prior to that, but by the time you see page proofs, the publisher really only wants to you to scan for typos.

So, I've been dragging my heels a bit on the last one. RESURRECTION CODE was more fun, actually. There are some scenes in that book that I'm actually quite proud of and are fun to re-read. Even though enjoying my own work also makes me feel weird, but in a completely different way.

I had a great night last night watching TV. I know. I should have been writing (I realized the other day that I only have a couple more months to finish ALMOST EVERYTHING, the 3rd Ana book's current title.) But PBS was showing a NOVA episode about going to Mars. Watching that got me all excited for space, you know? I felt ready to write science fiction. Plasma engines! Deep space travel! Solar sails! Freeze-dried food!

But I'm tired today. I probably won't go to Mars, especially since I spent most of last night trying to get there in my dreams. I tired, too, because my sleep is still interrupted most nights by one of two things: my cats Inky, our talker, likes to wake me up around 5 am to feed him. I have accidentally trained him to do this, because I can't figure out how else to shut him up, and he will literally stand by the bed and cry LOUDLY until I get up.

Or, my son. Mason, like a lot of kids his age, has the ocassional nightmare, and he'll call out for snuggles. But, he will also call out when he kicks the blankets off and gets cold. Sometimes, I think he even calls for me when he's dreaming. But, it wakes me up, and I go.

I was up three times last night. Now I just want to go face down and forget everything I'm supposed to do.
lydamorehouse: (Default)
Wow, I had one of those weekends where I totally disappeared from the universe. Sorry, here I am. How are you?

I think I got buried in the snow. It was cool, wasn't it? After slipping and sliding our way to Mason's second to last swim class, Mason and I played snowballs. Much wet fun was had.

I've been having dreams about forgetting my flight back from Europe and driving without breaks. I think that means I need to get more writing done. Or I should check to make sure I'm not forgetting other gigs.

Okay, Mason's bored now (he has off for Thanksgiving, etc.) and we went back to out old coffee shop, and for some reason he gets bored here a LOT quicker than at the new place. Plus the prices have gone up. I won't be coming back here any time soon, alas.
lydamorehouse: (Default)
Or, at least, Tate looks like an Idiot on Twitter. I swear, I figure out how to post and then I end up somehow sending things out in duplicate, all with misspelled words (yes, I know, I'm terrible here too, but I already say I'm an idiot in the title of this LJ.)

So, how are you?

We had a lovely weekend, partially due to our good friends the Murphys ([ profile] seanmmurphy, who took Mason to the Minnesota State Fair yesterday so we didn't have to. Yes, I'm one of those crumugeons who hates the State Fair. Let me explain. I grew up on county fairs. You know, the kinds that roll into a large park and set up a midway on grass and briefly transform the ordinary into something magical. Yes, the south side of LaCrosse had permanent buildings and such for Oktoberfest, but I perferred the northside's Copeland Park. And I'm the same way with the State Fair. I like all the things about the State Fair: the bad food, the people watching, the weird seed art, 4-H buildings, and jam and pie contests, etc. But, I can't take the paved streets reflecting heat, the zillions (hardly an exaggeration) of bodies all crowded together, the noise, and the smells (and I don't mean of the weird food, but the humanity.) If I took Mason, all he'd hear is the complaining. Luckily, the solution was to let Sean and his wife, Katherine, take the little guy for the time of his life. And they did. He ate all sorts of things on a stick. He got to go on the "kidway" (the carnival rides for the smaller ones) and do and enjoy all the things with people who *love* the fair.

Meanwhile, Shawn and I got to have a long, slow Sunday morning, the likes of which we haven't had since Mason was born. We read the newspaper, I drank coffee and we munched on Cinnamon rolls courtesy of Breadsmiths. Then we went to an estate sale and picked up a number of useless, cheap curios... because we could. We wandered, meandered, and generally lazed through the morning. It was quite lovely.

Mason was quite pooped after the fair and spent the afternoon reading (his version of a nap), while Shawn and I made fresh salsa from the tomatoes from our CSA share. Mom, if you're reading this: I ate tomatoes. Raw. And liked it. Try not to faint.

Our salsa is good, but not quite the recipie we were shooting for. We're going to have to keep experimenting until we get the amount of spices that make that "taste" we want. But it was fun to have tried it, and, as I said, it's certainly a good first attempt.

In the evening, we grilled out, despite the chilly weather. Can I confess something? For me, this has been one of the best summers on record temperature wise. I love the cooler weather. I'm sorry for YOUR tomatoes and basil and all the plants that love heat, but, man, it's been great sleeping weather.

Speaking of which, I had the strangest dream last night. And another one where I actually remember dreaming in color. Predomenant color? PINK. Anyway, the dream involved a house in... Africa? Asia? Where we had to close a lot of gates to keep all wild animals off the property (weird mix: coyotes, mountain lions,, monkeys,) and then once inside the estate, I was showing off my collection of masks to my guests. I got the sense that I was a thief of some kind, perhaps this house didn't REALLY belong to me, but many of the masks I had stolen from museums. In particular, under the floorboards, I had two ancient Egyptian "death masks" like the famous one of King Tut, only these belonged to some queen and her consort. I kept telling everyone, "for godssake, don't put them ON!" And, of course, someone did... and the mummies came to life and then it devolved into your standard nightmare, although as I told Shawn this morning, what was weird about it was that even in the dream I got the sense that if I just got out of the way, the mummies wouldn't hurt me. They had their own agenda. But whenever the queen used her magic something pink would appear.

Strange. And left me with those random images floating through my head this morning. Do you have dreams that do that?

Anyway, Mason is ready to do something. I should go!

Quick Note

Jun. 10th, 2009 01:00 pm
lydamorehouse: (Default)
...cuz I'm trying to write.

Had one of my "you forgot to go to the convention" dreams last night. I have a LOT of reoccurring dreams. My mind seems a bit lazy, honestly. I reuse set peices, houses, and other dream scenery. But I have this particular dream often, and it goes like this: I'm at a convention party late in the evening, Sunday, the last day of the con. I realize two things: 1) I never registered and 2) when I go find registration, I get the list of panels that I completely missed. Usually, there is one that is just about to end, and I spend the rest of the dream trying to figure out where in the hotel the room is that this panel is supposed to be.

This is really just a riff on my "you have one more class in high school / college to take / teach and it's a month into the semester, you can't find your locker, class list, class room, etc."

I actually took an on-line course on dreams, and I was disappointed in the information about reoccurring dreams (there was almost none). I have a zillion of them, and when I poll people I know many people have similar ones.

Anyway, back to work!
lydamorehouse: (Default)
Shawn's dad's surgery has been postponed again. Now they're not planning on operating until February 1. It's not clear from talking to grandma if they decided he still wasn't healthy enough or if grandma just got her wires crossed on the day. Either way, Shawn is going to delay going down until next Wednesday, which works out beautifully for me. Now we don't have to fret at all about dealing with a babysitter on the first night of my Loft class.

Speaking of my Loft class, I had one of those VERY strange dreams about being late to school last night. This one involves a tiny bit of backstory before I go into it. First, last night was writers' group and we all talked about whether or not we were planning on attending The Fourth Street Fantasy Convention in June. Stephen Brust (aka [ profile] skzbrust), who is very much involved in 4th Street, and I have a very strange history, not unlike the one I have, in my mind, with Neil Gaiman. Brust and I were at Rennaissance Festival academy together, which is, frankly, just weird. At the time, I had no aspirations to be a writer, but my dear friend Bill ("Faux Pas" out at Festival) was extremely impressed with Brust and his writing, and insisted I check him out. I did. Let's just say, I was less so smitten. If I really think about my adverse reaction to Brust, I might be forced to get very Fruedian and admit that there are things about his personality that remind me of myself... particularly my "con personality" with which I have a love/hate relationship. For the record, our entire relationship is completely fiction, that is to say I've made it up in my own mind. I'm not sure Brust would recognize me (actually, I'm certain he wouldn't having been on panels with him where he misprounced my name.) However, he is at the epicenter of a set in the Twin Cities writing community with which me and my friends have often found themselves at odds.

The second bit of information you need to know about what was on my mind last night before I fell asleep was that I read #528 Fantastic Four (Straczynski/McKone), which in some other post I may extoll the virtues of. Anyway, in it, there is a rather dramatic explosion which one of the other characters, Dr. Love, implies may be an act of terrorism by Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic.

Okay, with all this floating around in my subconscious, here is the dream. I dreamed that I was attending a party at Stephen Brust's house (which was a set that I'd used often in dreams, so much that my dream persona noted to Elise Matheison that I'd spent a lot of time playing there in my youth.) So, I'm hanging out knowing that I have to be at the Loft class in a half hour. I'm watching the clock anxiously when Elise or maybe even Jane Yolen slips me some LSD. Suddenly, it's quarter to seven. (Like, in my dream, I look up and the hands actually spring forward.) I dash out, still high. I'm alternately running and driving through this Gaimanesque forest/Wisconsin backwoods, when I get to THE BORDER. At the Border, I have to go through customs and it's clear to me that I have a false passport, and I have to spend minutes convincing the customes officer that I'm truly a Israeli citizen. There's another guy in the line beside me who has a container. My nose was actually plugged up last night, and so in my dream, I needed to throw away a Kleenex. I unscrewed this guy's container and tossed the Kleenex in, and as I did that I realized he had explosive gell in the container. I took off runnning knowing I was going to be blamed for the blast. I woke up as the whole thing blew.

Weirdest dang dream.
lydamorehouse: (mason)

...and now my heels hurt.  I've worn Converse hightops since they were popular in the mid-80s.  But, yesterday, in a fit of "oh sh*t I just ripped the entire heel off my hightops" I impulse bought a pair of Converse non-hightops.  The back of my foot is seriously torn up.  I've totally forgotten how to wear shoes that rub against my heel.  Plus, all of this may have been exaserbated by the fact that I just spent two hours raking the front lawn (again.)  

I love owning a house, but I have to say yard work can go f**k itself, especially given that the rest of my neighbors seem to think that raking involves making piles of leaves on their boulevard that then blow on to mine (where I rake AND bag them, you fraking yahoos!)  

The sad part is, I'm mad because I didn't get to work out at the gym this morning.  I had to work outside instead.  I'm sure Captain America has to rake leaves, too, but damn, I really would have rather briskly walked on the treadmill than raked leaves (and garbage!  Gah!) in the brisk (and snowing!  Gah!) wind.  

Today is picture day at Mason's school.  He's wearing his dinosaur shirt.  Mrs. R. commented that the kids are squirrelier out of their uniforms, but I tend to think that it's more that they know today is a special day and are generally excited about getting to do something different.  

We bought my new shoes at Maplewood Mall.  Normally, I don't shop at a suburb quite so far out, but Shawn had to see a neurosurgeon about her headaches (she gets insane migranes,) and the mall was close.  Mason and I dropped about a hundred dollars in books at the Barnes & Noble -- he got more of the Black Lagoon series by Mike Thayler (illustrated by Jared Lee)  including a few chapter books.  As we were leaving, he noticed Calvin & Hobbes in the clearance bin, so we picked up the Authoritative Calvin & Hobbes, hardback, for only nine dollars.  Quite the deal.  

As I told Mason at the time, I swear that the Maplewood Mall Barnes & Noble has figured into my dreams.  I have never before been in a two-story B&N, but this on has an escalator well in the center of the store, which goes down into the main section of the bookstore -- and I had the most profound sense of deja vu when I saw that.  I SWEAR I dreamed of a B&N just like that one. 

I've been having really great dreams again.  I had one the other day where I was actually mad about being woken up because I was an awesome police officer (not, by the way, my usual dream-job.  Seriously, I have a whole series of dreams where I'm on the run for a crime I've committed _or_ I'm breaking out of jail.)  I was explaining to my friend Barb the other night, that the other thing that's strange about these dreams is 1) I'm almost always a man, and 2) I have what feels like real physical memories of doing things that I have never had the skills for in this lifetime -- things like rope climbing, climbing in general, and the feeling of running very easily and swiftly.  So what do you think that means, Dr. Freud?  Past life?  Keen desire to be a buff boy?

Anyway, I'd better close down as I must go pick up little boy.

lydamorehouse: (Default)

It finally happened. I dreamt I was Captain America. My GOD I was disappointed when I woke up this morning. Don't you hate when that happens in dreams?  I was SO agile, so strong, so... ripped.  This morning what do I get?  A dumpy lesbian mom.  It's just not fair.  I finally figure out what I want to be when I grow up, and he's a ficitious superhero.  I mean, come on, I could take the super-soldier formula, couldn't I?  I'd even wear tights.


Speaking of disappointments, I had my reading at Nina's last night.  I knew it was going to be a disaster the instant I walked in and heard the organizers of the event freaking out over the fact that there was no microphone and that no one at the venue seemed to know anything about the event.  In a weird way, however, the chaos relaxed me.  I'd been getting a bit nervous about the reading because, well, Nina's isn't my usual scene and the National Writers Union types are notoriously leary of genre writers (we're suspect of selling out to The Man for big bucks -- if only they knew.)  I didn't end up reading any of Emily because my printer died -- actually it died the day before Tate's 400 + page manuscript was due in New York.  Shawn has since purchased another one -- it's huge and will copy AND fax -- but since we averted the manuscript crisis by using Kinkos to print a .pdf of Romancing, we've been lazy and haven't hooked it up yet.  So, I brought a copy of Dead Sexy with the thought that I'd either read the zombie bit or all of the first chapter depending on how comfortable I was (or how much I thought the others squandered their time.)

There room wasn't particularly set up for a reading, either.  Mostly very disgrunteled looking patrons, who looked to me like they'd rather be working on their OWN novels without interuption, stared balefully at us.  We went in alphabetical order, which put me in the middle-end.  I went second to last.  After listening to the poet read about spousal abuse, I thought, "I think I'll just read the zombie bit.  It's funny and fast."  I went up and stumbled through my bits, and sat down.  I didn't get any laughs (which is kind of unusual,) but I think those who might have been interested were suffering whiplash after going from such seriousness to zombies buying copies of Voodoo for Dummies.

At least I was able to defeat evil with grace and panache in my dreams.


 Oh, but if YOU want to hear me read "Emily," I made a recording of it here: Emily Podcast.  The quality is pretty poor, but I'm still learning all this stuff.  Feel free to give me advice for improvement.

lydamorehouse: (Default)

Last night I kept myself awake well after midnight reading my own book.  I can't decide if that was amusing or deeply narcassistic.  Either way, re-reading the Mouse sections (and other sections in which he appeared) caused me to dream that I was Mouse last night.

No surprise, I dreamed that I/Mouse was trying to escape the authorities.  In one particularly memorable scene, I broke into the evidence locker of some futuristic police station to put something INTO my folder (apparently to exonerate myself... or maybe Page.)  At any rate, I had a really strong sense of panic, like I knew the cops would be there any minute, but I also had a deeply satisfying dream moment when I very skillfully popped the lock on a highly secure folder-thingy.  Also, I had the impression that people knew I was there, but they were cowed by my fearsome reputation.  It was a very strange, but also oddly satisfying dream.

My question to y'all is:  do you ever dream that you're someone you've written (and how weird is that)? Or, if you don't write, do you dream that you're characters from books?

Previous to this, I've spent a lot of my dreamtime as characters in TV shows.  Lately, as Apollo from BSG (why him, I have no idea.)   But the cool thing about those dreams is that they come with really sophisticated special effects -- not unlike the show.  I think I have dreamed that I was other people's characters from books that particularly impressed me, but, of course, right now I can't think of any.   

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